The Chickpea Song

Don’t let us interfere with what you are doing.
If we complain–we need more stewing.
We came to the kitchen tasteless and raw,
smelt a sweet smell and knocked on the door.

Drawn to the fire, we were reckless as moths,
none of us knowing how much it would cost.
We could be in the field or scraps on the floor,
instead we are cooking–boil us some more!

We entered the pot with too much of ourselves,
an eye love’s spices decked on the shelves.
If we leap from the pot faint-hearted in a swoon,
hit us on the head with the edge of your spoon.

Round and round and round we go.
Stir us, whirl us, let love flow!
We could be in the field or scraps on the floor,
Instead we are cooking–boil us some more!

Too many cooks will spoil the broth.
Soon we won’t care if you scold us or not.
We came to the kitchen tasteless and raw;
smelt a sweet smell and knocked on the door.

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